Tag: noir

  • Sunny Day Parasol Co. — Case File #4: The Ghost in the Glass

    an episodic Vivian Locke noir

    AI image based on this work & created with Gemini, with direction by Michael Raven.

    This is a serialized story. Start with Case File #1 here.

    “Jesus, Viv. You don’t have to be some bitchy dame about it. Sure sure, I’ll help you out. Always have, haven’t I?” he grumbled, grinding his cigarette in a graveyard of butts in the overflowing ashtray. He muttered something low and ugly and, with a wave of his hand, coaxed the frost to slink back into the frost-encrusted case like a beaten dog.

    “First things first,” he added, his voice a low gravel. “Let’s get that little bit of nasty into containment.”

    (more…)

  • Sunny Day Parasol Co. — Case File #3: The Kiss of Verdigris

    an episodic Vivian Locke noir

    AI image based on this work & created with Gemini, with direction by Michael Raven.

    This is a serialized story. Start with Case File #1 here.

    The walk away from a fresh corpse is always longer than the walk toward one.

    The rain spat its static-kissed venom onto my trench coat, a thousand tiny drumbeats dancing off my shoulders before dissolving into the crackling cobalt-spark of the alley puddles at my feet. I slipped from the streetlight to shadow, leaving the spreading chalk outline of a problem for the boys in blue. That’s when it caught my eye — a sickly green stain creeping across my glove. The corrosion from the dead man’s identification coin had left its signature, thin, poisonous tendrils still foaming where they’d kissed the laminated identification papers. A dirty reminder of a dirtier business.

    (more…)

  • Sunny Day Parasol Co. — Case File #2: Copper on the Take

    an episodic Vivian Locke noir

    AI-generated image by Gemini, with direction by Michael Raven

    This is a serialized story. Start with Case File #1 here.

    Whatever happened down the street had a sound that scraped against the soul, even for this blighted patch of the city. More than my exposed skin prickled in the charged rain, thick with the scent of ozone and something fouler. Even a magically-disinclined Hollow like me didn’t need a gifted psychic to tell them that shriek was tied to the recent bagboy, not someone thrilled to be boosting a sports car. For one thing, no rubber burned to drown out the wee-hour drone. For another, the sound was less ‘joyride’ and more ‘soul-flaying’. Had that same sound clawed its way out of some window over The Red Door down in The Tenderloin District, my assessment might have shifted. I might have even paused long enough to offer a slow, dark clap of appreciation.

    (more…)

  • Sunny Day Parasol Co. — Case File #1: Cold Case

    an episodic Vivian Locke noir

    AI-generated image by Gemini, with direction by Michael Raven

    It takes a lot of nerve to slide uninvited into my booth when I’m halfway through a bad week and a worse cup of coffee — it could have just as likely dishwater as coffee by the sheen reflecting my mug in the surface. Usually, I’d just tell the stray to take a hike. But the guy smelled like burnt ozone and sheer panic, and before I could even complain about the static-charged puddle he was leaving on the seat across from me, he slammed a frost-encrusted attaché down on the cracked and stained laminate.

    (more…)

  • The Bell Palimpsest — a prompted fiction exercise

    Photo by Peter Herrmann on Unsplash

    The following is written from another fiction prompt from Jolene (Chico’s Mom). On-the-fly, off-the-cuff and keeping edits to a minimum (my personal rules). The required included elements from her prompt are:

    1. Person who never gives up
    2. Plastic surgeon
    3. Secret meeting
    4. Library

    As expected, it ended up like another Twilight Zone reject, and I expect that’s just the way my mind is wired. I may make small edits in the next day or so as I read it with a fresh mind, but I don’t expect anything substantial to change during that time.

    Doctor Eliot Thorne was not a patient man in the best of times. And he was losing what patience he had as he waited for Miss Clara Bell in the candlelit library of her ancestral home in the wealthy end of town. He had thought to ask for more lighting, and had turned to the butler to ask for the lighting to be increased, but Gunter, her manservant, was already through the double-hung doors before he could think to ask.

    (more…)